


Nothing suits me

by MayQueen517



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, suit feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayQueen517/pseuds/MayQueen517
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like a photo album, only one he can touch. Tony sometimes sees Pepper lingering over them when she's down in the shop; ghosting light fingers over the glassy surface of their cases. (Bruce simply stares at them, almost as if he's thinking over the various histories within.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing suits me

**Author's Note:**

> So, VerboseWordsmith prompted me with the cracky "Nothing Suits Me Like A Suit" from How I Met Your Mother, but apparently my brain wasn't having light-hearted stuff.
> 
> Each suit, in my own personal canon, represents something to Tony, so I explored that a little in this.

He keeps his suits in order. Watching the way they change and the differences in them. But he doesn't keep them just for that; no, he keeps them as placeholders. He looks at each and every single one and sees the moment in time they represent.

It's like a photo album, only one he can touch. Tony sometimes sees Pepper lingering over them when she's down in the shop; ghosting light fingers over the glassy surface of their cases. (Bruce simply stares at them, almost as if he's thinking over the various histories within.)

The first one, the one birthed in the dark cold of the desert and given a trial by fire. It's bulky and huge, full of scars both on the surface and in his own mind. 

He sometimes stands in front of it, trying to banish the image of Obie inside out of his mind. He tries to equate it to freedom, to making his own way, to...to something. Instead, he looks at it and remembers the sound of Obie's voice in his ears as he gasped for breath on his own couch.

The Mark II though. Sleek and brushed, it glows under the soft lighting. Mark II is still freedom, of the joy of rocketing out and into the night air. Racing through the sky and even though he remembers the bad (nearly dying, watching Rhodey fly off with it, watching Rhodey fight with it) he can't stop the good that floods in. This is the one that he leaves to Rhodey; only Rhodey gets it in the way that Rhodey has only ever gotten anything from him. 

Mark III is pride and joy. It is succeeding at creating this new legacy, the start of the clean energy race (not so much of a race with only one person in it, but he was, at least, always taught to win no matter what). Mark III is its own shadow though. And he always thinks this, he thinks of Jarvis talking into his ear, flashing warning signs on the HUD and the feeling of his old reactor failing, even as Pepper screamed from below. He remembers her screams as the arc reactor overloaded more clearly than anything else from that suit.

Tony isn't one for sentimentality (this is a lie, as Pepper would say) but he looks at these suits and wonders where he would be without them. Well, of course, he knows where he would be. Without Mark I, he'd be dead, simply.

He looks to Mark IV and V, getting close to the glass to see the minute differences. They articulate differently; one flying better than the other. One fits into a fucking briefcase and he dares anyone to tell him that's not amazing. He looks at these suits and knows that they are the best thing he's ever done. He looks at them and he remembers.

He remembers Yinsen and the tap on his chest; the phantom ache he feels sometimes when it's too cold. He wakes up at times with that pressure sitting on his chest and his mind racing. Tony doesn't like to linger; too busy and too carefree for that or something of that nature. 

Instead, he comes down into the shop, working on new improvements to the suit. He experiments with new alloys, drifting back to gold over and over again; it is the alloy that prevents ice and when he looks at the Mark VI, he sees flight. He sees it first and foremost and always. 

Mark VI is the culmination of the past ones, of the flight and the firepower. It is, possibly, his favorite. Tony opens the case, touching the metal within, feeling scratches and dings. He touches it for a moment, smiling to himself as he pads over to the Mark VII. The Mark VII which still wears the dust of invasion of Manhattan.

He closes one case to open the other. His mind is beginning to whirl, beginning to work out something as he snaps his fingers, bringing up the lab display.

"Jarvis, buddy, tell me you're awake," he says, absently grabbing a tablet that's been laying around since however long.

"As always, Sir," Jarvis responds, low and warm like always. It gives Tony a thrill after all these years. He looks around the lab, wondering if Pepper (and the others) see monuments to himself (which, okay, they are) instead of the progression of a man bettering himself. He finds a stylus after a minute of searching.

"Jarvis, pull up the composite of the film that's over seven's surface. Did we get a reading of that? We should have got a reading," he says, muttering as he puts the tablet down, scrambling instead for the stylus that's somewhere around here.

"Indeed, Sir. Pulling it up now," Jarvis says as Tony stares at it, making sense in the best way he can. He eyes the data and looks around. His eyes fall onto the corvette nearby, the streamlined and easy way it sits there. He looks to the Mark VI and grins suddenly.

"Jarvis, blueprints; you know how I like them," he says, watching former designs shoot up, labeled meticulously as he starts working. He grabs the designs for the Mark VI and VII, improving on them both without starting from scratch. 

He's lost in his work, in drawing up new designs with better improvements for more situations when Jarvis flashes the components of the weird film over the armor. 

Tony, like always, gets absorbed by work. He goes into mini-engineering comas or something. He loses himself in the lines and the practicalities versus the vanities. He likes watching the holographic interface whirling around him and there's a calm that settles over his chest, easing the pressure there.

He barely hears the door to the labs open and it's only when he hears the distinct whir of Dummy's rotors in greeting that he looks up. Tony blinks to see Bruce padding over. Bruce who understands the pressure in his chest and doesn't begrudge him this the way some would. He wonders if Pepper's still in bed and curled around a pillow or if she's up already.

Actually, he wonders what time it is. Bruce is, at least, carrying a mug of coffee that's steaming and Tony is acutely aware that Bruce is speaking.

"What? Sorry, say that again," he says, putting the stylus down and grimacing at the gritty burn of his eyes. He takes a large swallow of the hot coffee, barely managing to hide his wince. Bruce favors him with a weird little wry smile.

"I said that Pepper told me to come check on you," he says, with that tone to his voice that Tony's come to notice as awe of something. He's working on it, though. He's learning what that note of awe really means and when he sits down fully into his chair, he watches Bruce look around.

"What time is it?"

"Not quite nine. I don't...sleep heavily," Bruce says with weight as Tony nods. Tony's fairly certain that Pepper's the only one who still sleeps heavily, and she sleeps like a marching band wouldn't wake her up. It pulls a fond smile to his lips as he looks over at Bruce. He looks rumpled and sleepy and there's an itch under Tony's skin to stretch himself into Bruce's space.

"What're you working on?" Bruce asks, coming to stand just behind Tony, looking over the interface. He's taken to it better than Tony would have expected and there's something about the warmth of another person at his back in the lab that has Tony leaning back.

"Armor stuff," Tony says, tipping his head back to graze his lips against Bruce's jawline. Bruce breathes in heavily, like always and it sends some thrill down Tony's chest. It reminds him of the same reaction from Pepper and Tony finds himself smiling. He takes a long swallow of his coffee, savoring the warmth before he kisses Bruce.

Bruce always kisses like he's afraid it's going to disappear; like he's going to wake up and it'll have been nothing. He kisses like he's been starved for affection. Tony loves it. 

Pulling back, Bruce stares at him with an undefined expression, but there's peace in his eyes and that? That leaves Tony in the position of keying off the holographic interface and putting his cup of coffee down to kiss Bruce harder. He kisses him properly; intent and warmth filling the space between them.

There's a quiet whir of Dummy in the corner and Tony slides his hands under Bruce's shirt, touching bare skin with a sigh. It feels lazy, like it's going to stretch on forever.

And Tony? Tony is okay with that.


End file.
